


poison never did taste so sweet as it does on your lips

by Anonymous



Series: des_is_writing [1]
Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mob, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, BAMF Peter Parker, BAMF Tony Stark, Botanist Peter Parker, Bottom Peter Parker, Frottage, Gardener Peter Parker, M/M, Mafia AU, Mafia Boss Tony Stark, Mob AU, Mob Boss Tony Stark, Peter Parker is a Little Shit, Poison, Poisoning, Precious Peter Parker, Rimming, Smut, Threats of Violence, Tony Stark Does What He Wants, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Top Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-04 01:40:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24925540
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Tony Stark, the mob boss feared in all of New York, needs an extra flair in the monotonous chore of killing, he has one person he can go to. Meet Peter Parker. Some might call him sugar baby, some might overlook him as a simple home gardener, but his wide array of plants hide a deadly secret, quite literally! Every single plant in his greenhouse can kill. This is only one of the reasons why Tony visits him every day.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Series: des_is_writing [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1695733
Comments: 15
Kudos: 343
Collections: Anonymous





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [EuphoriaStark](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EuphoriaStark/gifts).



> Uh, I'm not quite sure if she has an archiveofourown account, but Tumblr user @ mrsluttystark. This came out of a discussion on p*pperony twitter "discovering" the mob boss trope with Tony, and I've had on my notes for awhile Poison Ivy! Peter. Like, c'mon, botanist, nerdy about poisons, chemistry, and his plants, plus a knack for killing *chefs kiss* Perfection. 
> 
> I might write more -- add more chapters and what not -- because there are other facets of this character I'd love to explore. 
> 
> (Sorry in advance for not updating my other fic, but I'm more than halfway done with Chapter Two, so, oops.)
> 
> I actually wrote this (and made the moodboard) in less than a day, so I'm super excited about this.

  
[moodboard](https://imgbb.com/)

Peter ignores his compulsion to breathe deeply in his little greenhouse. It’s not large at all, but it houses his children, so to speak. A botanist’s dream, really. Aisles upon aisles, shelves upon shelves, packed with beautiful plants and flowers. As long as one can show the respect it deserves, you’ll survive the scenic view.

Peter double-checks his gloves are snug and fit around his hands before he sets down a small pillow. He sits carefully on his knees before he takes an analytical look at one of his blooming plants, his pride, and joy, a rich ruby red _ricin communis_. He plucks each seed from his darling plant, and places them, one seed at a time, in his wicker basket. Peter can easily imagine himself picking berries for a picturesque picnic date, rather than for a ricin-filled pellet for today’s errand.

Although, there is no reason why he can’t actually plan a picnic later with his beloved, but not here. Not if he wants to avoid accidental poisoning. Peter giggles softly to himself, before slowly spinning the potted plant around to make sure all the seeds are collected. Once he is satisfied with his work, Peter removes his gloves and places it on top of the pile of seeds, then gathers his basket and pillow before placing all his items on the sturdy wooden table by the entrance to his loft.

The botanist muses for a second if he can skip watering today, as it is such a cumbersome chore some days, but he figures he has the time. He turns slightly to find his watering pail in his utility sink and starts to fill it. His watering can is a gaudy red and gold, but it was a gift. So, despite it interrupting an otherwise charming setting, Peter feels his heart warm whenever he uses it.

Before long, he finishes watering every plant that needed it, all the while singing softly to himself as he did, which had the added benefit of increasing the carbon dioxide needed for his plants. Once done, Peter tries to think if there’s a need for more plant pickings, as his _aconitum ferox_ did bloom, but he figures, well, he can find a use for them anyway. This time, though, he picks a glass mason jar, as his wicker basket is currently in use.

Peter, happy with his day’s work, washes his hands thoroughly and takes both his basket and mason jar into his little botanist lab.

“Anthony,” Peter murmurs when he feels the strong arms wrap around his waist from behind him. He feels the telltale beard scruff against the back of his neck, before feeling kisses that turn to heated bites. Peter presses back into the broad chest behind him but delicately puts aside his pickings. Once a safe distance away, Peter is abruptly turned around and he finds himself looking up at his lover.

The illustrious Tony Stark in his humble abode, Peter smiles to himself, taking no small amount of pride in his latest conquest, maybe his final one too.

Peter feels Tony’s hands wander down his back, past his shorts – much to his momentary dismay – before grabbing his thighs, a small warning, before he easily picks Peter up. The gardener reflexively wraps his legs around Tony’s waist.

As if to rectify the momentary disappointment, Tony’s hands grab his ass from under his satin shorts. Peter tightens his arms around Tony’s back, grabbing a fistful of his long-sleeve button-up. Peter only imagines that the suit jacket Tony no doubt arrived with is placed neatly on his coat racket. A hallmark of the domesticity of this recent relationship.

Peter’s thoughts come to a halt when he feels a finger lightly circle his hole, making him rut once, twice against the hard abs of his lover.

“No panties today, kitten?”

Peter exhales purposefully and rests his head on Tony’s shoulders, before shaking his head. He meets Tony’s endless brown eyes, pupils dilated with want and desire, for _him_. Peter grinds once more, feeling lust starting to overwhelm his senses. It’s as if every place Tony’s touching was dipped in witchbane, this indiscernible heat that warms his very veins.

“Good,” Tony whispers into Peter’s ears, before pressing him against the cool metal of his desk, his knees bent to reach his ears. With Tony’s calloused hands still holding Peter’s legs, the larger man leans back, eyes roaming every inch of Peter’s body. Tony’s eyes seemingly stop at the front of Peter’s shorts, where no doubt his leaking cock starts to leave a wet spot. Peter resists the urge to look away in embarrassment. Not in shame or, god forbid, low self-esteem, but to be really seen and valued by Tony, to be laid bare – soon to be literally – it ignites a fire within Peter.

Peter’s arms rest uselessly by his head, ready to anticipate his lover’s next move, but kept in loose fists to stop himself from palming himself.

“Now, I don’t need to worry about any nasty burns if I ravish you right now, right, Petie Pie?”

“No, no, I’m good.” Peter mentally applauds himself for keeping his voice even. Despite having very physical reactions to his lover, it was a whole feat to keep his voice from wavering, tinged with the lust that no doubt is boiling over.

“Good boy,” Tony says softly, almost as if Peter wasn’t meant to hear it.

“Hold your legs for me, baby,” Tony says louder. Peter rushes to follow, grabbing the back of his knees, stretching them further.

“Lube still where we last left it?”

Peter gives a small nod accompanied by a small _mhmm_. Despite Tony no longer eyeing Peter, he seems to have understood and opens the attached drawer underneath Peter, and then places the bottle beside Peter on the desk.

Tony turns back to Peter, and his hands start to wander. One of Tony’s hands slips under Peter’s sleeveless satin top. The clothing itself is already cropped at Peter’s middle, so really, Tony palms at Peter’s chest, lightly brushing his nipple. The other hand grabs Peter’s ankle.

Tony starts to pepper kisses up Peter’s leg, making sure to rub his beard across his skin. Peter moans softly, as he feels goosebumps prickle all over, which of course, captures the attention of Tony who laughs quietly.

“Needy little thing -- aren’t you, sweetie?”

Peter’s hands are still at his knees, so he grabs a little tighter, so he can evenly say, “only for you, Sir.”

“Good,” Tony growls, and pulls on Peter’s legs so his ass is a little off the desk, and as he does so, Tony pulls off Peter’s shorts and places it beside Peter – probably remembering how annoyed Peter was the last time he got his clothes dirty. But before Peter can think for too long, Peter feels Tony lick a strip against his hole, which he can’t help but clench, and moans at the new sensation.

Peter lets go of his legs – but still being a good boy and keeps it stretched as far as it can go – and delicately holds onto the back of Tony’s head, careful not to pull. Well, if he pulls, just gently so. Peter runs the blunt edges of his nails against Tony’s scalp, just the way he likes it, and he’s rewarded by Tony plunging his tongue into his hole. Peter barely manages not to pull on the hair but couldn’t hold back his rutting into Tony’s face.

Tony laughs deep, removing his tongue as he does so, but kisses Peter’s swollen puckered hole. Peter whines, but it gets caught in his throat.

“You’re such a tease,” Peter whispers, leaning his head back, his unfocused eyes landing on the industrial style ceiling. His fingers go back to its rhythmic movements.

“And you’re a little minx,” Tony pulls away from Peter’s hole.

“As long as I’m _your_ little minx.” Peter tugs on Tony’s collar – how is he still fully dressed – and kisses him. Tony groans, before he turns their kissing to hungry open-mouthed kissing, his arms bringing Peter right up against his chest, with his poor ignored cock rutting uselessly against his abs.

Tony briefly fists the satin material of Peter’s top before abandoning it altogether and fiddles with something behind his back, but never once breaks their kissing. Peter’s curiosity is satiated when he hears the distinctive cap of the lube bottle. His cock dribbles more precum in anticipation.

The older man pauses and presses his forehead against Peter’s, looking at him intently. “You in the mood for playing today?”

Peter catches his breath, his shaking hands softly playing with Tony’s collar. “I… I’m already close.”

“I haven’t even really touched you yet, baby,” he teases. Peter tries to silence his laughter with another needy kiss.

“Just fuck me, Anthony, I promise I’ll play with you later.”

Tony bites on the lobes of Peter’s ears, before whispering, “be ready tonight, then, baby, I’ll tie you to the bed if I have to.”

“Is that a promise?”

Tony groans, and before he knows it, Peter is flipped and is face down on his work table, on his knees and ass in the air. Thick fingers soaked in lube slip easily in his hole – still slightly loose from this morning – making quick work out of the strung-out Peter.

It’s embarrassing, really, just how easily worked up Peter gets. He gasps when Tony sneaks in a fourth finger, and he damn near cries when he finally feels the head of Tony’s cock tease the rim of his hole.

“How bad you want it, baby?” Tony murmurs, just barely dipping the head of his cock, but not quite penetrating it.

“Pretty fucking bad,” Peter barely manages out. He focuses on breathing, and on his second exhale, Tony stuffs his cock right in Peter, slams it really, and Peter nearly collapses on his table. Never has he been so thankful for splurging on the sturdy furniture. His fingers reach for the other edge of the table and grip it, with his nails scratching it underneath where Tony can’t see.

It feels like it’s just a moment of Tony mercilessly slamming into Peter before Peter feels like he’s about to cum right then and there.

“’m close, Anthony,” Peter tries to warn, but regrets it the second he said it because Tony removes himself entirely and pulls Peter up, so his back is right against Tony’s chest – still covered with his no-doubt ridiculously expensive shirt. In fact, if Peter had the wherewithal, he’d notice Tony still had his slacks on too, only pulled down enough for him to fuck Peter, and not an inch more.

Peter tries to regain his composure and rests the back of his head on Tony’s shoulder. He takes even breaths, and his hands come to play with the fabric of Tony’s sleeves from the single broad arm that holds Peter together. But all that is almost thrown right out the window when his lover grabs his swollen, pre-cum covered cock, easily dwarfed in Tony’s one hand, his thumb pressed down hard against his slit.

“A- ahh,” Peter reflexively bucks into Tony’s hand, who only turns into the crook of Peter’s bare shoulder, the spaghetti straps of his top now drifted uselessly down his arms.

Tony tuts, like he was scolding a child, “not so fast, sweetheart.”

Peter nods uselessly. Tony waits for Peter’s gasping breathing regain a semblance of composure, before pushing in once more.

“I’m going to make you cum, okay, baby, but I’m not going to stop until I’m done. That sounds good, sweetheart?”

“S-so good.” It comes out more of breath, rather than an actual response, but Tony takes it.

Tony pulls Peter up a little more, the arm holding him together now across his stomach and the one that was previously holding his cock, now at his throat. Not choking – not yet anyways – but the pressure for Peter to look ahead, to stay upright.

Peter knows that this is Tony’s favorite bit, and he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it for the same reason Tony did.

Peter peeks down and sees the bulge in the stomach every time Tony slams into him, and with each slam, Peter sees – and feels, _oh god_ – his cock jumping.

The size difference of his smaller cock, to Tony’s imprint on his fucking stomach – before he knows it, Peter cums, gasping, gulping mouthfuls of air, but Tony never stops his momentum.

Only when Peter leaks out the last of his cum, is he pushed face down, and he feels Tony’s broad hands grab his hips, so instead of Tony slamming into him, it’s Peter, manhandled so easily, like a doll, a toy for Tony to use.

Peter feels his cock already starts to perk up. And because Tony’s Tony and nothing escapes his notice, he says, “already about to go for a second time, baby? Needy, needy little thing.” Peter can only whimper in response.

Tony pulls out and picks up Peter’s lithe body, and all of a sudden, they’re moving, and Peter finds himself on Tony’s lap – no longer filled -- on one of the metal benches in his workroom. Peter looks up at Tony questioningly.

“Ride me, kitten,” he says, as he pulls off Peter’s drenched satin top.

Peter steels himself for a second, before grabbing the fabric at Tony’s shoulders for leverage, and drops himself right on Tony’s cock. Once full, Peter moves his legs, opening his thighs wider, but gets a better angle to push himself up, and he rights himself and goes up, and slams back down.

“Gotta do better than that,” Tony teases. Peter blinks back the sweat that’s layered all over his skin and goes again, once, twice, over and over. He feels Tony lean back a little, and with Peter still holding onto Tony’s clothes, follows, so instead he’s impaling himself at an angle. He feels one of Tony’s hands grab a fistful of his ass, pulling as if that’ll open him wider. His other hand is steading the pair, who could very well fall over.

Peter, trusting in Tony’s ability to keep them up, leans his weight on him, and dissolves into shallower thrusts, but allows himself to rut against Tony’s clothed abs. He only manages a few times, before Tony holds him still, both hands gripping his hips tightly.

“Naughty little thing,” he says before biting into Peter’s shoulders, who flinches and couldn’t help but clench on Tony’s cock.

Tony pushes Peter back and maneuvers them just so that Peter feels his back hit the metal of his bench, and he instinctively wraps his legs back around Tony, who in turn uses one hand to grab both of Peter’s wrists and hold them above his head. His other hand once again holds Peter’s cock firmly.

“No more cumming until I do, okay, baby?” Peter nods and tries to start moving again, but Tony takes over. All Peter can do is hold on and try not to cum. The minutes start to blur together, lost in continuous movements, and one point they start kissing and didn’t break until – Tony grunts and Peter feels the warmth from his cum fill his insides, and as the ever-attentive lover that he is, Tony keeps thrusting right through it, until Peter’s vision whites out and –

Tony gathers Peter into his lap, pressing his head into the crook of his neck to rest, before he stands up and carries him into his bedroom, a feat in of itself as he easily walks up the staircase. Peter shivers in his arms, now that the sweat turned cold from the air-conditioned air, and Tony merely rubs his back comfortingly, before placing him on his bed.

Peter looks absolutely small and delicate amongst his black silk bed sheets, dwarfed by its size.

“Take a nap, kitten, and we’ll talk business later.”

Tony cups his cheek, and presses a soft kiss on his forehead, then his slips, and gently pushes him down to the soft bed. His hand stays on his cheek, and brushes the soft skin there, while he reaches for the fabric of the blanket to cover Peter with.

Peter briefly registers another kiss before he falls into a dreamless sleep.

Peter wakes to an empty bedroom, and it's dark. He practically lost the whole day, if the lack of sunlight is anything to go by. He sits up and rubs his eyes, before realizing how _sticky_ he is. _Ew_. Tony knows he doesn’t like sleeping right after sex, but it’s not like he would’ve made it through an actual shower. But he can now.

He lathers himself in a luxurious amount of body wash, shampoo, conditioner, and when he’s done, a soft vanilla-scented lotion.

His clothes from before are completely ruined, so he picks out a new set – black thick jeans, a black camisole, with a nice fur coat for when – if – he goes out. Peter briefly recalls his promise from before.

He finishes styling his hair and only frets about the front part as he walks down the steps. Upon his descent, he’s surprised to see Tony still here. The man has since changed and is looking intently at his tablet, no doubt his daily reports from his subordinates.

Peter knows better than purposely distract him, so he picks up his little leather notebook from his end table by Tony and lays his head just beside Tony’s thigh. Just within reach, but not so distracting.

The botanist leaves through the more recent entries of his notebook and finds his notes on the plants he collected earlier today. He quietly annotates how long this growth cycle was, among other details.

He feels Tony’s hand ruffle through his hair, so he looks up at the sharply dressed man. The tablet is now gone, all focus on Peter, who preens under the attention.

“Wanna show me what you have for me today, sweetheart?”

Peter nods and waits for Tony to offer a hand to pull him up.

The pair go back to his workroom, Peter’s clothes nowhere to be found. Paying no mind to that matter, Peter pulls on his work gloves and pulls his wicker basket to him.

“These red seeds are from _ricin communis_ , or the castor oil plant. It’s not quite ready yet, but all I need is up to eight seeds to reach lethality.” Peter peaks at Tony, to gauge his interest, and when the older man nods for Peter to continue, he smiles in excitement at the opportunity to nerd out.

“So, it’s also called the _Hand of Christ_ , and what makes it deadly is the protein ricin inside. It was used to kill a Bulgarian dissident by the country’s secret police with a modified umbrella, firing a tiny pellet filled with it. The process to make it is not unlike that of cyanide for apple seeds, but it requires a significantly less amount to reach lethality. And this one –” Peter moves the mason jar in front of him “—is _aconitum ferox_ or wolfsbane, even nicknamed soldier’s helmet. It’s great as a slow-acting killer. It has aconitine, which messes with the heart and brain, leading to eventual paralysis. Those who consume it can lose function of their limbs within an hour of ingesting it, followed by their sight, and then death.”

Peter smiles brightly up at Tony as if he’s showing off an exam grade with top marks, which, if Tony’s honest to himself, isn’t that far off base.

“Both plants barely bloomed today,” the smaller man starts putting away the seeds, and then removes his gloves, so he can sit up on the table and (almost) look eye to eye at Tony. “I’m keeping an eye on _abrus precatorius_ , because those are really fun, it actually inactivates the ribosomes in cells, so it kills pretty fast, like, super easy compared to the other plants, But, my _Ageratina altissima_ might be interesting too, although not practically.” Peter bites his lips, almost as if he was admonishing himself, but before Tony can reassure him, Peter continues.

“It works really well through secondary poisoning like if a cow just, straight up eats it, the person who eats the cow dies. It’s hard to discover too, so long as no one else gets sick too. I’m not sure if that works out for you, though.” Peter looks up at Tony, who smiles in return.

“I think I have a few connections in the meatpacking industry out in Queens.”

Peter’s smile in return warms Tony’s heart.


	2. I became who I am today without your help

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trigger Warning: Abuse
> 
> Peter became the killer he is today when his boyfriend laid hands on him. Luckily he had his friends on his side. 
> 
> [Note: Tony barely makes an appearance -- more of a cameo really.]

Peter uses one hand to keep the icepack against his bruised face and a possible black eye. Peter has yet to take a good look at his face, but he knows it’s sore. The other hand is scanning all of his spam emails on his work computer. Peter finds himself chasing a small idea. It’s not the best idea, and it’s certainly not the easiest or most efficient idea. But, it’ll make him the happiest. It’s too late to call any of his friends, and he’d rather not text them about the situation. It might be good, then, because he’s sure they’d talk him out of it.

Once his boyfriend of a measly two months laid hands on him just hours prior, Peter already made a vow never to let it happen again. How’d that saying go, fool me once, shame on you, fool me twice, shame on me?

You see, as the owner of a nursery, Peter receives many, many emails and offers to buy certain plants from other companies, even some from out of the country. And, although Peter loves to focus on the small subset of plants he has now, with his specialty lately focused on herbs used to make teas, Peter thinks he might have a contact hidden amongst the thousands of spam messages that might’ve offered to sell rare plants.

He scans and scans until his face is numb, still pressed against the icepack that’s now nearly warmed up to room temperature, and finds a rare plant specialist. They’re based on the outskirts of New York, and Peter thinks he can make a trip later that day. With his luck, he might even be able to pay in cash and avoid any future suspicion.

He places the ice pack in a small ziplock bag before placing it in his backpack and locks up the office for the night.

LINEBREAK

Peter’s face is still bruised and ugly and purple in the morning. Peter briefly considers the idea of leaving as is but figures it might be suspicious buying a poisonous plant with his face as it is now, so he finally decides to call his friend, who he hopes won’t ask too many questions, to bring over makeup.

Mustering a little bit of courage, Peter dials one of two phone numbers he has since memorized.

“Hey, MJ…” Peter’s voice trails a little

“Hey, yourself, loser, why are you calling me so early in the morning?”

“I wanted to ask for a big favor.”

“Hm?”

“Would you be able to, uh, bring over some cover-up that you think might match my skin tone?”

“What are you trying to cover up?”

“Oh, just some blemishes.”

“What kind of blemishes?”

Peter lets out a nearly silent sigh. Michelle lets the silence grow a moment or two before she responds, “Alright, Parker, I’ll be over in an hour,” before abruptly hanging up the phone.

Peter frets about in his small studio apartment. He grabs a new ice pack from the freezer to hold against his face, wincing slightly upon contact, both from the soreness and cold.

Peter plays with his phone a little before he receives another phone call from Quentin, and he abruptly declines the call and mutes his phone altogether. He wonders if Michelle will talk to Ned. She’s usually good at keeping things private, so Peter ignores the urge to call his more compassionate friend.

His eyes look about his apartment, trying to decide what to do in the meantime while ignoring the pit of anxiety in his stomach, thinking about what Michelle probably deduced happened, what she might do, and what will today bring all together.

He decides on making tea, so, one-handed, he fills a pot of water and starts boiling in on his stovetop. He takes out his favorite mug and a mug Michelle usually uses when she visits. Once its set to boil, he combs through his small shelf of tea leaves but decides on a generic green tea bag for them both and places both in the empty mugs. Green teas can help with inflammation, but Peter doubts it’ll have any noticeable difference. But, he’ll take what he can get.

He throws a second green tea bag in his own mug.

Peter’s focus usually centers on plants, like the leafy and flowery kinds, but he’s sure something in his fridge has more anti-inflammation properties. He picks up his phone, swipes up to hide the 30th text message from Quentin, and googles common anti-inflammation foods and comes up with a small list of berries.

He takes out the half-empty plastic container of strawberries and the nearly full one of blueberries and throws them in a bowl. He swishes some water around in the bowl to do the bare minimum cleaning and removes the water from the bowl. He does everything one-handed to keep the ice pack on, so it’s a much longer process than it needs to be.

He hears the water boiling and figures it’s time to pour it in the mugs. This time, he leaves the ice pack on the kitchen counter to fully focus on pouring the hot water into the mugs. He only spills a few drops. And so, the tea starts to steep.

Ice pack back on his face, he starts eating his berries and looks up the address he memorized from last night. He swipes away at another message, not even bothering to look at its content. If Peter takes the subway, he should be able to get there in an hour. It’s Saturday too, so no 9-to-5’ers packing the subways either.

A knock at the door interrupts Peter’s mental planning. He throws the ice pack back in the freezer and tosses Michelle’s teabag. She doesn’t like her tea to be strong. Peter quickly double-checks the peephole before throwing the door open.

Michelle is carrying a medium-sized makeup bag – which Peter briefly figures out it’s her own personal stash – before Michelle gasps at seeing Peter’s face.

“Uh…” Peter quickly closes the door.

“Pe—Peter!”

“I know.”

“What the fuck?!”

“Yeah.”

“How?”

“Uh.” Peter kind of throws his hands helplessly, before walking to his small living room area and sits down. Michelle follows, placing her makeup bag on the side table.

“What happened, Parker?”

Peter purses his lips a little.

“Don’t give me any bullshit.”

“Okay.” Peter taps his hands on his knees. “So, Quentin and I got into a fight last night.”

“A fight, or did he just punch you?”

“I pushed him away afterward?”

“Peter…”

“Anyways, could you help me cover it up?”

“No.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“Peter, it’s less than a day old. Your skin is partially broken on your fucking eye, and your face is all puffed up. No amount of makeup is going to cover the swelling.”

“Oh! I made green tea for us; it’s anti-inflammatory.”

“Pete… Honey…”

“I know, but even a little bit might help?”

“Do you need to go out today, absolutely?”

“Well, I wanted to buy something.”

“And it had to be today?”

“Sooner, the better.” 

“Can’t you postmate it?”

Peter wrings his hands before he goes to pick up their mugs. His green tea bag is still steeping, but he figures it can’t hurt if he leaves it in.

“What do you need to get?”

“I just… wanted to buy some new plants for my store.”

“You get your usual shipments on Tuesdays.”

“Yeah, but I wanted special ones.”

Michelle takes a sip of her tea and looks at Peter. Like, unbearably analyzes him from head to toe.

“Poison. You want to buy him poison.”

Peter drops his mouth, looks at Michelle, then looks away. _Fuck_. He purses his lips again, before he says, “no, because that’d be stupid.”

“And you’re stupid. Oh my god, Peter!”

He shrinks in his seat.

“Okay, at least you’re not planning on going back to him, right?”

“Well, no, but if I wanted to make him soup or, uh, tea, I kind of have to, right?”

“You didn’t really think any of this through.”

Peter glares at her and drinks the rest of his tea.

“Really, Pete, this is easy stuff, just trip the fucker down the stairs, and _bam!_ He’s dead. No one’s the wiser.”

“But there’ll be police reports and ambulances and everything.”

“You told me yourself. He lives in a piece of shit apartment. No security cameras or anything. Just leave afterward.”

“I’d still have to go outside and be seen with this fucking face, MJ. If anyone’s asked, they’ll definitely point out the bruised dude last seen with him.”

She frowns. “Okay, I cover this shit up, alright, Pete, but the minute it’s done, come straight here, and I’ll help you wash it off. Have you at least been using frozen peas?”

“No, I’ve been using ice.”

“…Close enough, I guess. Okay.”

She chugs the rest of her tea and sets to work.

LINEBREAK

Later that night, Peter finds himself with his head on Michelle’s lap and his feet in Ned’s lap. He also balances a bowl of popcorn on his stomach. It’s a weird set up, but it’s nice. He’s also balancing a bag of frozen peas on his face. The trio is watching Spaceballs, a nice reprieve from anything serious, steadfastly ignoring the still bruised face, and the now silent cell phone no longer ringing with any notifications.

The movie volume is low, so Peter can clearly hear Michelle when she asks him about his original plans.

“It’s just an idea. Some plants can be fun to mess around with. You don’t even have to kill anyone. Like, just ruin someone’s day with diarrhea and panic attacks and hallucinations. The works.”

Ned pinches the meat of Peter’s calf.

“Hey!”

“And you were just gonna waltz in, order it on your credit card, with your face on security cameras, and log it on your business account?”

Peter turns his head to face into Michelle’s stomach with a muffled, “maybe.”

“Peas, Parker!”

Peter _hmph_ ’s and fixes the bag of frozen peas.

“Come to us next time, Pete. Like, before you do anything drastic, okay?”

“I will…” he mumbles.

Michelle kind of glares at the ceiling.

“You know, you could make it a specialty. Like, do sell the plants, and you could always have it on standby if something like this happens to either three of us.”

“And when people start getting sick?”

“Well, for one, nobody can afford a doctor’s visit anymore. And two, historically, plants always been used in assassinations. I’m sure you’ll think of better, more well-researched ideas.”

Peter hums.

“And if you need me to knock out any more security footage, I’m there for you, your guy-in-the-chair,” Ned proclaims.

“Guy-in-the-chair,” Michelle and Peter echoes in monotone.

“Yeah!”

“Sure, Ned,” Peter replies.

Eventually, the trio falls back into a comfortable silence, with Peter intermittently snuggling closer to the pair.

LINEBREAK

Eventually, when Peter adds a specific list of plants in his inventory, plants peripherally poisonous, he also starts to grow his own contacts and accumulates his own personal collection. A deadly collection. And when Michelle’s father gets drunk one night the next summer and hurts her, she knows just who to go to for help.

This time, Peter dabs on color correcting greens and reds on the appropriate places on Michelle’s face, who, to her credit, only winces marginally.

She quietly asks, “how’s your collection going?”

Peter briefly meets her eyes before continuing his task, and replies, “It’s growing. I just got a batch of seeds for delphiniums. I’d highly recommend them.”

“Just the seeds?”

“Just the seeds.”

“Would…” Michelle struggles to find the right words. “Is it fast?”

“Faster than other plants, yes.”

Michelle’s hands tangle themselves in her sleeves with anxious energy.

“Of course, as you know, there are other ways.”

“I know. But there’s life insurance.”

“And if it happens at home, it won’t be suspicious?”

Peter moves on with setting powder while Michelle mulls over her answer.

“It’ll be more suspicious if it happens elsewhere.”

Peter hums. “Do you need any other help?”

“Can you tell Ned? To see if he can keep his eyes peeled.”

“Of course.”

Peter leans back when he’s done. The swelling is still there, but, if anything, Michelle looks like she just suffered from an allergic reaction.

Michelle double-checks herself in the mirror before grabbing the clear plastic bag of seeds and stuffs it in her jeans pocket.

Peter nods a somber goodbye as she leaves without another word.

Now in silence, Peter puts away half of the remaining seeds and carefully plants the rest in small pots in his window sill with about three inches of compost in each pot. He looks up the window and tries to recall how much sunlight it gets. But since it’s early afternoon and the whole apartment is bathed in light, Peter figures it’s good enough.

He looks around his apartment once more and decides to bring a flowering castor oil plant into the store with him as he leaves.

He’s upgraded his little plant store to handle more… fragile plants. What used to be the office is now a room set aside with humidifiers and a heating system. It’s really something Peter’s proud of, as he developed the system himself and keeps close track of. He has it connected to his phone, so if he likes, he could pull it out and check the current readings and a visual on his plants. It’s only half full, but with his _Ricinus communis_ , it’ll help fill out the room.

Peter quickly reaches his store. Carefully balancing the plant on his hip, he struggles to take out his keys from his pocket, a taller man appears to his side.

“Sorry for the inconvenience, sir, had to step out for a bit,” Peter calls out but doesn’t look.

“No worries,” the voice answers, “need any help?”

By this time, Peter manages to unlock and open the door, and finally looks to the potential customer and finds himself looking at a handsome man.

“A- after you,” Peter welcomes.

Peter quickly places the plant on the cashier counter and massages points in his arms and hands where the pot was uncomfortably pressed.

“Anything I can help you with, sir?”

“The name is Tony, kid.”

Peter nods before he realizes this is probably where he needs to give his own name, so he struggles out, “and my name is Peter.”

“Now, Peter, I have a unique problem, and I think you’re the perfect guy to help me out.”

**Author's Note:**

> [my research on poisonous plants -- some lifted verbatim from Wikipedia, YouTube videos, etc.]
> 
> • Ricin communis (castor bean plant, castor oil plant, hand of Christ) – the protein ‘ricin’ – one of the most toxic naturally occurring substances – symptoms take hours to occur but lead to death in almost all cases.  
> • Atropa belladonna (deadly nightshade, devil’s herb, witches berry) – ingesting the berries can cause dry mouths, dilated pupils, vomiting, drowsiness, and delirium. In severe cases, it can lead to convulsions and comas. 10-20 berries can kill an adult. Compounds at fault are solanine and atropine.  
> • Prunus laurocerasus (Laurel, cherry laurel) – pips contain cyanide which starves the central nervous system of oxygen, leading to fainting or even death  
> • Aconitum ferox (common monkshood, wolfsbane, soldier’s helmet) – plant contains alkaloids, which if ingested results in severe gastrointestinal upset and slows the heart, often to fatal effect.  
> o the compound, aconitine, interferes with the human heart and brain. Anyone who consumes the plant can suffer from muscle weakness, tingling, numbness, irregular heartbeat, low blood pressure, nausea, vomiting, and diarrhea  
> • Brugmancia suaveolens (Datura, angel’s trumpet, thorn apple) – the plant has mild hallucinogenic effects when consumed. Historically has been used recreationally by upper-class Victorian ladies, and by Parisian prostitutes.  
> • Ruta graveolens (witchbane, herbygrass, bashoush) – contains furocoumarins, a phototoxic poison that causes severe sensitivity to the sun on touch  
> • Hyoscyamus niger (henbane, hog’s-bean, symphonica) – the smell of the flowers can cause giddiness and fainting. When consumed, it can cause dry mouth, blurred vision, vomiting, hallucinations, and in severe cases, hypertension, convulsions, and comas.  
> • Conium maculatum (hemlock) – the coniine compound interferes with the signals between neurons, causing dizziness, trembling, slows down the heart rate, and eventually can cause paralysis. It can be fatal, because the diaphragm, the muscle that helps control breathing, also becomes paralyzed  
> • Abrus precatorius (jequirity bean, rosary pea) – because of protein, abrin, a ribosome-inactivating protein, which stops ribosomes from functioning, thus making the cells stop working. One-tenth of a milligram can kill an adult, with symptoms set in the first day.  
> • Ageratina altissima (white snakeroot, richweed, white sanicle) – requires 0.5% or 2% of your body weight to die via ingestion, but “milk sickness” cause of death in the 1800s, in which livestock ate tons of it, and ingestion of the milk of said livestock, kills.  
> • Manchineel tree – that one deadly tree, super endangered, American south to south America, super painful


End file.
